At Then End Of The World
by AlainnAnam
Summary: At the End of the World is where the dark waters lie,where Jack lies in wait knowing his crew is coming.Funny though,the keeper needs ALOT of compensation for Jack's soul.That's Where Amara comes in,a gypsy bar wench in TortugaThe Quest for Jack begins...
1. A Cry At Sunset

The sea stretched out in front of the ship, as far as the eye could see. The sunset had splayed colors across the sky in hot pinks and deep crimson reds, looking vaguely like blood.

A ship loomed in the sunset, its tall masts and wide hull making the silhouette against the sky strike one as…ominous. Behind it loomed a ship, burning like a match gently blending with the sunset like some cruel trick played by the light to entice the eyes to thinking it has touched the earth.

Silhouettes of men stood on the deck of the ship, a small form huddled on the ground.

"No, please stop!" A voice cried.

"Ahah lass, ye are mine, do ye understand?"

"No, leave me alone." She cried eyes wide with fear.

Above her loomed the captain of the ship. He was not handsome, but not ugly. His eyes were a bright blue, almost too blue for his skin and his face was all sharp angles, with a stubborn chin that didn't match. It wasn't a face that was pretty, but you wouldn't forget it.

That is not why the girl was afraid.

His pants had been removed, and tan skin glowed in the light, naked. He was full out nude, and couldn't contain his need.

Amara cried, her body curling into a little ball. Where she came from this was not acceptable, this man would be shot.

"Please don't." she whimpered.

Captain James Mortan was a cruel man. His eyes glinted murderously in the red sunset, making him look deranged.

He leaned down closer to her, his breath pungent against her face. "I'm going to take ye, right here, in front of me crew. Do ye understand me?"

Amara turned her silver-purple eyes to him. Her hand lashed out, scratching Mortan across the face, wounds bleeding immediately.

"Nolan, hold her."

The wicked glint extended all through the man's face.

A scream echoed across the ocean, pain filled and full of anguish.

That was how it began.

IOIOIOIO

Egypt was far away, in a land where there was no escape from the sun. The sands stretched for miles and miles, interrupted only by the random pyramid or oasis. Beetles and scorpions lived in the sands, waiting for prey.

Amara was from Egypt, near Cairo. Her parents were gypsies, her mother Egyptian and her father from somewhere in Europe, with a little bit of Egyptian in him too. She had traveled with her father to Alexandria port because she was moving to Port Royal, to get away from the sands and winds that had so affected her mother.

The ship set sail on a cloudless day, the sky blue as a robin's egg. The sea was calm, and a slight wind blew from the west. It was a perfect day for sailing.

It was true that ships, rogue ships, roamed the waters across the way, but that had not stopped them. The captain had said that they had the best defense to offer.

It wasn't enough.

Two nights later a ship appeared on the far horizon, moving their way.

Captain Len Porter was originally from London, England, and had thought nothing of the approaching ship, only that it was making a passage to Alexandria. It seemed the lovely captain was wrong.

Later that night when all the crew but two for watch were asleep the ship was boarded and the two watchmen killed without even being aware that the pirates were there. Captain Mortan boarded the ship killing any in his way. He came for supplies and maybe a woman to satiate his needs.

He found his want.

Amara had been thrown into a closet by her father, to be kept safe. She swore and thundered at him until she tired, never knowing that up on deck her mother and father had been murdered by Mortan. She kept murmuring to herself, she could fight, she was taught how, she had even beaten her brother Alam, who stayed behind.

These simple murmurs were what got her found.

The doors to the closet opened and a face, tanned and scarred stared at her, the smile on it malicious and awful.

She screamed.

Amara had fought, kicking screaming, punching, kicking and biting. She didn't give up easily, destroying most of the things in the room to keep the man from her. He jumped on her, knocking her to the cabin floor unconscious, James Mortan was not a light man. He picked her up over his shoulder.

On his way out he grabbed Amara's father's sword. It had a hilt made of black leather and silver filigree, a single garnet was inlaid. It had been in her family for many a generation.

Amara awoke on the deck of a strange ship, only to see hers burning in the distance.

"Father!" she had screamed, clutching at the railing, ready to jump over to go back to the ship.

A hand grabbed her.

"Mother!" she sobbed.

"Dead." Whispered a voice, like grinding metal.

Amara punched the man quickly and crouched.

He tackled her and hit her with the hilt of his sword.

The world went black.

IOIOIOIO

Memories punctuated her dreams, no nightmares, as Amara slept on the floor of the galley, among the rats and leftover food of the men. The smell was excruciatingly disgusting, and she was beginning to smell of it.

Her gown had been sold and now all she had was the sheets she had been ordered to sew together for herself.

They did not save much modesty.

Her black hair from her father fell around her in greasy strands, and her silver-purple eyes, her mother's eyes, held no life to them.

Being raped each night would haunt you.

It didn't matter what happened to her anymore, she went to a place where nothing could touch her, a kind of grey area where she felt nothing, and knew nothing. It had become a natural defense to save what sanity she had, and it seemed that after three months it was working.

It was not important about her sanity, only the men's because Mortan needed them to work his large Ship, the Xavier. It was told to her that after months at sea and with no release that a man would go mad, so either the ships stopped at ports where women peddled their wares, or the cruel ones employed a slave.

Their next stop was Tortuga, only for the day; to buy goods and sell what they had plundered. She had heard that it was a pirate's haven, so she was assured she would get no help there.

There were scars on her back from the times she had fought so hard against him and his crew. His favorite seemed to be a whip with spiked metal on it, but she had not cried out until she passed out from pain, and only then a little moan.

She couldn't count the days anymore, she just stayed in the galley, and when the men came to eat, she would hide from them, like a mouse from a cat. She was afraid, she was terrified, she thought that maybe, just maybe she may be pregnant.

She did _not_ want this child, not from rape.

Her stomach had grown, and it was noticeable considering how little she had been fed. Her stomach constantly pained her, and in the night she would throw up, blood sometimes.

Finally Amara fell into a sleep, the deep sleep that had no rest, but put her away from her world.

IOIOIO

The sunlight streamed through the portholes in the galley, gently falling across Amara's once deep tan complexion. Her face was gaunt, and sweat dropped her head.

She screamed out in pain.

Her stomach felt like it was being ripped open, torn apart by an unknowable source, and when she got the consciousness to look at the floor around her she screamed bloody murder. It was soaked with blood.

One of the men left to guard the ship at Tortuga came running in; it was Brin, by looks. He looked at the body on the floor and paled instantly. He quickly turned on his heel and ran, his boot steps echoing on the plank. He was not coming back, he had thought Amara dead. Quickly another pair ran too. The footsteps faded, until they were no more.

Amara screamed again.

"Oh please help me, someone!" she cried, screamed, as loud as possible. "Help." she sobbed.

She heard footsteps on the plank again, but lighter this time, with less heaviness to them, less manliness she thought.

"Oh dear lord." A female voice echoed above her, fear showing through. "Jack!"

Amara screamed in pain again, and knew no more.

IOIOIOIO

She was warm and covered, in a room smelling slightly of rosemary and sage. A fire burned in a corner somewhere and the room was dark but for that. Amara felt cleaner than she had in months.

A terrible pain tore through her body and she gasped.

"She's awake." A gentle voice said from across the room.

A face floated into Amara's vision, deep green eyes staring at her. Curly red hair floated around the face, sweeping gently on the bed, longer than it looked. Another face came into view. Dark skinned and brown eyed the eyes a little too hard to be a normal girl.

"Hello, I am Kat, you are?"

"Amara." She croaked voice too sore to do much else.

"That is Anamaria. She is the one who brought you here."

Amara turned and looked at the other woman, eyes saying that words wouldn't be enough to thank her. "Thank you."

"It seems that you were pregnant Amara and you had a miscarriage. You were underfed and could not support the child, it seems. What happened to you?" Kat asked.

Amara explained in very short words.

"Mortan you say, James Mortan. Oh Jack will have a field day with this." Anamaria muttered.

"Maybe I was lucky to have lost the child then, it may have been that mans. It would probably have died anyway, Mortan never fed me, let alone another mouth." Amara sighed. "The baby probably would have been…..special, if it had lived I think."

"How do ye feel?" asked Anamaria.

Amara glared at her. "How do I bloody look?"

"Bloody."

"Smart-arse."

Anamaria laughed.

"She still has fight in her even now, when she nearly died."

"Doesn't mean I'm not tired and in pain you cad." Amara snapped.

Amara was not a happy person when she was tired, actually she was rather, well, bitchy. And when she was in pain an tired, well let's just say it was not too long before she would kill someone for solitude. That was why she liked to read.

Anamaria pushed at Amara, which was very much not like her. She saw a kindred spirit and thought maybe she would be different.

Amara moaned and went to clutch her back.

"Kat did you check her back?"

"No."

"Owwwwww." Moaned Amara. "Anamaria you stupid mangy good for nothing son of a…"

"Alright, roll over." Kat pushed her over. The last sentences from Amara were drowned in her pillow.

"Bastard" was heard in the muffles as Kat gasped and gently touched Amara's back. Her father would have had a heart attack if he heard his little angle talking like this, but hanging with boys would do this to a girl.

"Oh dear, I have to dress these. Anamaria, have you any rum?"

"You aren't going to drink and bind me are you?" asked Amara.

"No, I must pour the rum on your back."

"No. It's like acid."

"I don't 'ave any Kat, surry."

"I do." Rumbled a voice from the door, as Kat touched Amara's back again and she nearly passed out with pain.

"Ah, Jack nice of you to join us. I have news for you." Kat mumbled. "Amara I'm going to put you to sleep, aye?" Amara looked at her. "It won't hurt as much."

"Fine, but he had better be here when I wake. Mr. Jack I must speak with you."

"Alrigh' don't be so pushy lass." He smiled, teeth flashing in the firelight.

A nearly sweet smell invaded Amara's smell, and she passed out.

IOIOIOIO

Amara groaned awake. Everything hurt, down to the last muscle. She ached in place where she didn't even know it was possible to hurt. She was in so much pain she didn't even know that there were three people in the room. Usually she was more alert than that.

"Oww." She moaned.

Amara tried to sit up, only to fall back onto the….bed?

Wait. When did she get on a bed?

"Where am I?" she asked t no one in particular and almost screamed when an answer came.

"Katalina Anrier's house, who is a nurse and has been taking care of you for…..three days now."

"Three days!"

"Yes, three days luv."

"Lord in heaven and all that is holy. I have not been asleep for three days."

"Yes you have and you have been making interesting noises in your sleep luv, are ye dreamin about someone in particular?" commented the now, distinctively male voice with a hint of something in it. "It seemed very…passionate."

"You listened?" Amara asked.

"You bet."

"You bastard."

"Thank ye, well earned."

"Leaver her alone, she's recovering." Snapped Kat, carrying tea she had just made. Amara hadn't even noticed her leaving the room.

"Ah, apple of me heart, why do ye torment me like this."

"Shut your trap Jack." Snapped Kat.

"It was worth a try."

Kat glared back at Jack with a raised eyebrow. He never had an inch of room with her. He grinned saucily back at her.

"Bastard." She told him, and he winked.

"Thanks, luv, I practice."

"How old are you, my girl?" asked Kat.

"Twenty."

A stifled gasp rang across the room and tears of shame rose to Amara's eyes.

"Amara I need to redress your wounds, now turn over."

Obediently Amara obeyed, turning over painfully. The pillow pushed into her face smelling of sea water, blood and sweat. It smelled awful.

A searing pain etched into her back as the bandages were removed. A tinkling was heard and fire screamed through Amara's veins. Blessed night assailed her conciousness.

That was the last time she saw Captain Jack Sparrow.

IOIOIOIO

Tell me what you think; this is one of my newer fics. This chapter is pre- PotC: II. The next isn't.


	2. A Gypsy Speaks Words Of Magic

The shadows shifted around a figure, like night around the moon. The figure stood bright, but the envious shadows tried to take her over. Her cloak was silver against the pale wood of the tavern. Her head was down against the wind, her hood drawn carefully.

One soft leather boot took a step forward, then another. Soon she was strolling down the streets of Tortuga, like there was nothing to it.

The streets of the port were well lit with the windows and lamps and taverns and inns. The cobbles were covered in grime and horse dung, a ripe smell that took up the night. The Old Maid Inn loomed up in her vision and she turned into the door.

The downstairs tavern was roaring with laughter, and the heat was almost stifling. Her eyes watered against the smell of unbathed man and her feet left scuffs on the dirty floors. She made her way across the room to the doorway that loomed silently over the bar wenches and drunken men.

It was her shift and she had just come from her house. She had to go upstairs to change out of her male clothing. They wouldn't let a bar maid wear men's clothing. The whole reason they were there was to attract the customers.

Amara had just come from a reading. She had read a man who was to die within the next few days, or so his lifeline told her. Her living was made as a bar wench and as a gypsy. Interesting combination there.

A man in the far corner watched her go. He sat in the shadows, clothed in what seemed to be pirate clothes.

_She has to know. _The person thought. _ She has to help._

Amara re-emerged looking like a wench. Her long wavy black hair was tied into ringlets and her silver eyes had been ringed with kohl. Her dress, which was blue and white stripes, was cut dangerously low and her soft boots had turned into dirty slippers. She looked absolutely miserable.

"Kila!" called the barman. It was her name at the bar, so no one would know her real name. Her eyes were kind of telltale though "Attend to the man in the left corner, aye?"

"Yes Tom." She replied meekly.

She sashayed her way over to the table, a false seductive smile plastered onto her face. As she walked she made sure her breasts moved just enough to be alluring but not like a whore. Her face was a perfect mask as a man grabbed her hind quarters. It happened every night. It was what she was here for.

"'ello sir, what can I get ye?" she asked in her best bar wench voice.

"Rum, please Amara."

"Yes sir…" she said as she began to walk away. She stopped.

_Had he just said my real name?_

She whirled around and looked at the man, her mouth hanging open.

"Aye, I just called you Amara. I know who you are Amara. Jack told me about you, those five years ago when you met."

"Jack Sparrow?"

"Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow, and yes he did."

"Bugger."

"I need your help, Jack is in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"He's dead."

"Oh." Now she understood the sadness in those eyes. "How can I help you help him if he is dead. It does not seem to be a plausible feat considering you know that I know that Jack is utterly dead."

"Barbossa is crewing a ship to roam uncharted waters, off the edge of the world."

"Isn't Barbossa dead?"

"Was dead. Was. He came back the same way Jack is going to be coming back. Across the uncharted seas. And I need your help to find him."

"Who are you?" Amara asked, now curious.

"I am Will Turner."

"I've heard of you sir, how is Elizabeth?"

"She doesn't matter." He dismissed it.

She turned to look at Tom, who winked and smiled at her. He had set this up. _Bastard_. He flapped his hand at her, in a signal to go.

"Fine, I'll help. On one condition though."

"What is that?"

"I get my own cabin."

Will laughed a full throated laughed, that almost startled Amara out of her own dress when she tripped on it. He eyes lit up and her face brightened, and it was almost an instant reaction. It amazed her.

"Of course. I wasn't going to make you stay with the crew. They tend to, well, get a little carried away."

"One question though. Who has the heart?"

"Will's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"I'm a gypsy I know these things."

"Cutler Beckett. "

"Oh bugger."

"Yes."

"Isn't he the head of East India? I mean, he's in Port Royal now, isn't he? He's taken over most of the ports, and rumor has it that Davy Jones is rampant again, attacking ships that aren't on Beckett's list."

"Aye, Norrington gave it to him after he stole it from Jack. He's commodore again. He's on the high seas too."

"Well then. Off to my shop we go."

IOIOIOIO

The shop was darker, with rich purple walls and fabric in peacock green and royal blue hung. It looked somewhat like a tent. Rows of jingling coins and feathers hung from random places and it smelled distinctly of incense. Lavender.

In the middle of the room sat a table. Tarot cards were set to the side. Rune stones lay off to another and a crystal ball sat near the large chair in the back. A lace cloth covered the table.

"Ah home." Sighed Amara.

"Nice…..abode? You've got here."

"Why thank you."

"Sit at the table; I'm going to look into the ball."

Will sat at the table, a bit uncomfortably. His Christian beliefs said that this kind of craft was bad, but then again he was now almost officially a pirate. What did it matter now? Elizabeth wasn't his anymore and….

"It is in this, great mother, I ask you to show me Jack Sparrow and where he may lie."

Will sat forward.

The ball began to swirl white, shapes shifting through the smoke, or so Will saw. Amara's still kohl lined eyes widened.

"He is beyond the first gate of the Dark waters. His spirit is there, but where is his body? Ah. The Kraken."

Amara's eyes had turned dark, almost the color of tarnished silver. Her face had gone gaunt and her eyes looked haunted. "He remembers me." Was all she said. Her face had gone paler (if possible) and memories flowed past her eyes like water. Pain flashed across her face and she looked at Will.

"Jack is in trouble."

"Obviously."

Amara shot Will a venomous glare.

"The Guardian wants him to stay."

"Bloody hell Jack, does everything have it out for you?" Will sighed.

"You've got to make a fair trade for his soul."

"And who would be a fair trade?"

Amara smiled. "I know just the person."

IOIOIOIOIO

"Captain James Mortan? Are you bloody mad? Amara, _stop!"_ Will called. "James Mortan," he shook his head. "Bloody crazy women."

"I heard that. And I am not crazy." Amara was at least ten steps ahead of him, almost running, to the port. "You have a ship right?"

"Obviously."

Amara turned back to look at Will. The glare she gave him would have killed him on the spot, if looks could kill.

"What? How else would I get onto Tortuga?"

"Swim."

The docks loomed ahead of them. Ship masts towered into the sky, like spears of warriors. Most of the sails were tied, a few were not. The sky was dark, and the water was choppy today. The boats rocked back and forth, creaking.

"We're on The Halifax. We borrowed the ship from a friend of Anamaria's. Who is still not too happy about it, since technically it is _her_ ship. She just hasn't finished paying for it yet." Will stated.

"It's a bout time I get off this island."

"We set sail tomorrow morning. You have time to get whatever you need. The Halifax is, well here, I'll show you where she is."

"Can't we leave tonight?"

"No, most of the crew isn't back."

"Well bugger them, then."

"This is the Halifax. One of the fastest ships at sea."

"Not as fast as the Black Pearl though." Came a rough and gravelly voice.

"Gibbs, nothing will ever be like the Black Pearl." Will's face fell.

"Aye, I know it."

"I know it too. And Will, you had better not sink my ship, aye?" came Anamaria's voice from the deck of the Halifax.

"Alright. Go and Get what you may need Amara, and meet me here tomorrow morning."

"Alright." Amara walked away.

Anamaria stared at her. "I remember her mate, she's going to be something else Will."

IOIOIOIOIOIO

Amara's mind was totally scattered. She couldn't think of what to bring and what not to bring. "Bugger, bugger, bloody hell and bullocks. Bloody boats…ships…what do you wear on a ship?"

"Breeches, shirts and undergarments I would assume. Hats also." Advised a voice.

"Shut up Will."

"No."

Amara turned and gave him her most evil glare, and then threw a pillow at him.

"Bugger off Will."

"Fine. Just thought you might like to know we're leaving port early."

And he walked out.

"_When?"_ she called.

"Now."

He called back.

"Oh bugger." She cursed.

She heard laughing in the distance.

"Bastard."

IOIOIOIO

Second chapter, tell me what you think. And if you haven't seen PotC: II don't read this.


End file.
